The Frost of the North and the Flame of the West
by Kaiser Elf of Prussia
Summary: Many years after King Elessar brought the Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor under one rule, inner squabbles and foreign perils threaten to undo that which he founded. Can the strength of men stop this? Beware OC/Elsa shipping planned in the future (I'll try my best not to screw it up.) Lord of the Rings belongs to the Tolkien Estate and Frozen belongs to Disney.
1. Prelude (Of the Fourth Age of the World)

In the year 746 of the Fourth Age of the world, life across Middle Earth was peacefully and without turbulence. Bows were used only for sport and hunting; spears only skewered wild boars; and swords swung only to knight knights and crown lords. Though much of the splendor of the old world had faded, men shone brightly in the glamor of the new. Only the greatness of Númenor before its fall could rival such a time when men knew peace.

The cornerstone of the tranquility of men was the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor. From the Havens of Umbar to the Hills of Evendim, the banner of Elessar flew. Her fleets were great, and her armies few, but this is now what held the world in stability. Her mere presence kept the peace of men a reality. Her glory of old and new projected on Middle Earth. To the subjects of the Reunited Kingdom, it seemed as if the Star of Eärendil was among them.

But as the Númenóreans, at the height of their glory, began to turn towards more vain and dark thoughts, so did the men of the Fourth Age. Merchants became more concerned for their coffers instead of the interests of others, and lords more focused on their own glory and not the welfare of their people. And when the evil of men springs up from their hearts, so does the malice of the Black Foe turns toward them.

But not all is lost when men set their ways on wicked. For someone can still drive the darkness from their hearts. With fire he might kindle flames long left cold, and restore what once was. But what good does fire do if it burns too wildly and scorches the hand of its wielder?

Sometimes all a flame needs is an agent to counteract it, to help cool it down if it becomes too wild. Whether it be a cool breeze, a pail of water, or in this case…

a flurry of snow.


	2. Chapter 1 (Cold Chills on even Colder Ni

Under the shadows of Ephel Dúath, in the fair land of the Ithilien, the sound of pounding hooves and the snapping of twigs and branches can be heard. The source of this noise is the trampling of a frighten stag jolting through the undergrowth, and behind it a mighty steed hot on its heels. Mounted on this steed is a tall man with black hair and grey eyes, dressed in a silkish blue waistcoat; adorned with silver trimmings and gold buttons, a pair of silkish brown trousers, and a pair of thick blue leather boots with silver buttons. All of his clothing is, in what we would consider, 18th century style, and unfortunately is drenched in as much sweat as he was, which is enough to fill a whole pail! In the hand of the man is a long hunting spear made of steel, and on his brow is a thin crown made of the most lustrous silver, if it was silver at all. This crown has a single gem in its center, a radiant star of white stone, shining brightly through the leaves of the forest.

The man's eyes are full of determination and joy, despite his body's fatigued state, for he is gaining upon his prey. The stag is beginning to slow down, and the hunt that took him almost all day would be at an end. The ground begins to slope downwards steeply, and the horse enjoys an increased speed from the descent, while the exhausted buck is barely able to keep himself on four feet. The slope begins to fade, and the man grins. To the pursuer, it looks as if his hunt is a success. He prepares to ride past the beast and throw his spear into his side, only to be startled at what happens next.

When the hunter reaches the bottom of the slope, the only thing that greets him is a view of the canopy of the Ithilien, and across from it the flowing banks of the Anduin and the plains of Pelennor. The horse bucks back with all his strength to avoid the drop to the forest below, where the unfortunate prey found its demise. The rider, in a futile attempt, tries to hold onto the reins, only to find it impossible. The sheer strength of the horse, combined with all his balance being put into throwing the spear, causes the man to be thrown out of both his stirrups and saddle, and flung into a bolder several feet up the hill.

The man's eyes now remain still, full of shock. His mouth open as if the air had been blown out of his lungs. His spear lies at his side, still in hand. The horse flees leaving the corpse of its dead owner out in the wild, alone in the woods. And then…

Blood.

Blood now creeps out of the back of the rider's head, dyeing both his sweat soaked hair and the stone his body lays upon red. In a steady stream, it begins to poor all over the back of his waistcoat, and soon not even his boots are spared from the stain of the tide of death that flows freely.

Soon the sun sets into the west, and the body of King Túrëon, the seventh in the line of Telcontar of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, looks out upon the White Tower of the Citadel of the Sun. And under the shining stars, his body lays cold in the Land of the Moon.

* * *

In the dead of night, a blast of freezing wind and blowing snow bursts into the chambers of the now sleeping King Laurëalasson through the balcony doors overlooking the Nenuial. The sweat soaked, deathly looking man is awoken to the sound of howling wind, and is snatched away from the most dreadful account described above. The sharp chill of the icy wind soothed the king's mind, if not his body, and he is brought to his senses. He leaps, if a bit clumsily, out of the bed and walks towards the door. Before closing them though, he looks at a flying banner bearing the heraldry of Telcontar.

The king then mutters under his breath:

"The wind continues to blow from the south west. May Uinen save Arendelle, and us, from Ossë's wrath."

He then proceeded to close the doors and bolt them shut.

Now the king would not sleep in fear of rousing up the nightmares he faced just a few moments ago, and instead prepared to take a walk in the gardens. He took off his night gown and folded it on the bed, and then walked over to the dressing room akin to his chambers and took his winter robes out of a cabinet, putting them on. He then picked up his both his keychain and pocket watch, putting both of them in his pockets, and began to walk out of his chambers. But before he left, he remembered he was missing something.

"Ah yes, my pipe!"

* * *

If Rome could have been said to run off of grain, then the Kingdom of the Heirs of Isldur could have been said to run off of pipe-weed, though it would not entirely be a correct comparison. While the grain was used to keep the plebs from not questioning the interests of those in power, only the opposite could have been said for King Laurëalasson. The quarrelsome arguments between the Sedyr, meaning The Faithful Ones in Sindarian, as in reference to the Faithful that fled Númenor, and their dedication to preserving the values of those that fled; and the Thelyn, meaning The Dauntless Men in Sindarian, as reference to their dedication to the advancement of The Men of the West, had ruptured the political landscape and the king's already weak confidence in his rule. The court's bitterness had gotten to the point that the king brought his pipe and weed to it whenever it adjourned, and more often than not lost himself to its smoke.

This leads me to explain the condition of the king himself. The only son of King Túrëon, Laurëalasson was the eighth king of the Reunited Kingdom. In statue and appearance, he was very like his father and forefathers, but in mind, he was a much lesser man. He was a craven, both in bloody affairs, even deathly afraid blood itself, and in exercising his authority, though he wished to be brave and strong in rule, and loved his forefathers for these virtues. Despite this he was reckless and impatient, constantly moving from one thing to the next, and thus could not grasp his studies for the life of him. Even worse, he was to susceptible to sudden terrors and very prone to fear, mostly that his rule was not stable due to the Sedyr and the Thelyn dividing the realm at its seams. And worst of all he hated himself for all of these, as he knew he was a shame to the House of Telcontar, not fit to be king. However, he was kind, merciful, and if neither fear nor doubt clouded his mind, he could be most charming and clever.

But he was not always in such a poor state of mind. Laurëalasson in Quenya means Man of Golden Joy, and that he was for the first twenty-nine years of his life. He had a wondrous youth, and before taking the throne was sound in mind, most definitely not tainted by the cowardice that inhibited his rule. A lover of archery and horseback riding, his physical prowess could not be questioned. Though constraint was something he always lacked, he looked as if he would make a fine king when the time came for him.

However, that time came for him too soon. In the summer of F.A. 728, King Túrëon should have normally been in Annúminas, as it became tradition in the reign of Eldarion to travel and overseer Arnor in the summer, and then spend the winter in Gondor. But his wife's untimely sickness kept him in the south. The king thought some fresh venison might help cure her, and on July 10th, went out from Minas Tirith with a small host and the steward into the Ithilien on a hunting expedition. Laurëalasson did not go on the hunt, for though he had the skill to do so; he did not find hunting particularly enjoyable, and he had "other business'' to attend to in secret.

On July 11th, the king was chasing after a wild buck, and though he was almost successful, he had drove it off a cliff, and with it, almost himself. The horse, in trying not to fall down with the stag, tossed the king off of its back, and flung him into a rock, killing him. His body was not left alone for long though, as he had an attendant go with him on his hunt. It was late that night before the company returned to the city, bearing the body of the dead king. The queen and prince were asleep by then, and the steward saw no reason to disturb them with ill tidings, and thus waited until morning to bear the bad news.

However, that night Laurëalasson had the exact dream he had this night, though in the morning, thinking it was a nothing more than a dream, was not worried in the slightest bit.

But when he learned that the hunting party had returned, and that the steward, not the king, had called the queen, the prince, and the council to come together for a most urgent matter, he began to have his fears that his dream might have been true, at least in part.

Later in the day, when the council adjourned, with the queen sitting down on her throne and the prince standing at her side, the steward gave his grave news. He told all in attendance that the king had died in a hunting accident, and informed them that the body was being prepared for burial in the Houses of the Dead. The queen began to weep, but the face of Laurëalasson turned as pale as snow. The steward had also brought with him the man who was in the company of the king when he died. The prince hastily asked the man to describe in detail where and how the king fell. When the man explained it to him, it matched perfectly his dream.

Later that same day, after the sickly queen saw the corpse of her deceased husband, she gave up her life, as was the gift of her kind to do so, for much blood of Númenor was in her veins. But Laurëalasson felt a far greater pain that day. He would not eat anything until his mother and father were buried, and afterwards he was changed forever. He was more somber, and soon after his coronation on July 30th, became stressed with the management of the realm on top of his grief, with the formation of the Sedyr and the Thelyn two months later only adding to his problems.

But that which affected him the most was his dream. It was at the sight of his own father's corpse that Laurëalasson became afraid of blood, never again mounting his horse for fun, and his bow and quiver gathered dust. He was forced into the life of a coward, and with it all the guilt it brought.

However he told no one of his dream, and bottled it up inside of him. For he knew that he would be shamed if anyone found out about his fear of blood, though many suspected that he feared it, mostly due to the fact that he would not go near a place where a butcher worked. He did his best to run from it, and put it behind him.

But he found that he could not escape it, for on that night and for every night that falls on July 11th during his reign, the same dream haunted him.

Tonight though, the horrible strain of weather that had come upon Arnor last evening was a blessing to him from Ossë. For that night had been the first night in seventeen years he had not seen vultures pluck out his father's eyes.

This should be enough for now on the state of King Laurëalasson.

* * *

The king picked up his pipe and satchel of smoking weed from his desk, and walked out of his chambers. He then took out his keychain and locked the door, turning to the Captain of the Knights of Annúminas on his left*, saying to him:

"If my handmaiden should arrive here before I return, please direct her to look for me in the gardens."

The knight then responded, "Yes, your majesty.'

Thus the king turned and began to walk down the stone corridor to his right, with the snow still falling to the ground outside.

* * *

*While the king was in the city, two Captains of the Knights of Annúminas guarded his chambers on both sides.


End file.
